Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
There is no earthly reason for this post this week other than a funny quote and an excuse for me to sketch a cute duckling. Well, that and the fact that the last couple of weeks has finally brought us some long awaited and much needed rain.
That old expression ‘Fine weather for ducks!’ seems wholly appropriate . . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . . .
Before coming to work this morning I tuned in briefly to America’s ‘CBS This Morning’ and watched the reports of the massive winter storms that have been sweeping certain parts of that country. People were being warned to stay inside, take extreme care when going out of doors, try to stay warm . . . .
We here in Australia received almost identical warnings last weekend, with one major exception—we were told to stay inside, take extreme care when going out of doors, and to try to stay cool . . .
Last Sunday the temperature in Port Macquarie reached 47 degrees Celsius (116.6F) which is extraordinarily hot for almost anywhere, but especially so for us here on the New South Wales mid-north coast. We rarely get extremes of weather around here—hot or cold (one of its many attractions as far as I am concerned . . . )
As you can imagine my little household took the warnings very much to heart and our weekend was spent doing as little as humanly (or doggily) possible. Mabel and Maude’s only discernible movements were in staggering back and forth to the waterbowl in the kitchen or occasionally re-aligning themselves in front of one of the several fans which were running at full capacity around the living room . . .
Molly did even less than that. Not known for over-extending herself at the best of times, Molly made it perfectly clear from very early on in the day that she was literally going to die if she had to get up and walk all the way into the kitchen every time she needed a drink of water. Eventually, after much puffing, panting, groaning and beseeching looks cast in my direction ( I am such a sucker) a water dish was obligingly laid at her poor hot little feet . . .
Thus ‘molly-fied’ (ha—couldn’t resist that) she then spent the rest of a very trying day ‘resting’ under a cool wet towel . . . reapplied at appropriate intervals by her favourite chump of a hand-maiden, of course.
It’s a hard knock life . . .
Sally says . . . eat, sleep, work, read, play, draw, bark . . . 